


Another New World

by PepperF



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Gen, Ghostbusters AU, Lord Of The Rings AU, Star Trek AU, Terminator AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-26 04:52:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2638748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperF/pseuds/PepperF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is where I'm collecting my miniature Arrow AUs. None of them really go anywhere, each chapter is a one-shot, a glimpse of the people they might have been in some parallel universe. Except the Dirty Dancing one (that's still in my head) because Oliver swears on his life that it would never happen, not in any parallel universe, never ever, no.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ghostbusters AU

"So I know what you're thinking, and I don't blame you, but you're wrong, because this is the perfect idea. I mean, with my charm and Felicity's brains and Dig's strength and that old factory your father owned in the Glades—"

"So I'm there to provide the muscles? That's great. Really. I'm so flattered."

"You just want me for my father's factory?"

Tommy waved his hands impatiently. "Guys, guys, missing the point! Look, I figure if we could set up in that old factory, there'd be an office, a client reception area, a space for all Felicity's science stuff, and in the basement we can store all the..."

"Ghosts," said Oliver, as if it was preposterous.

"Tangible manifestations of paranormal spectral phenomena," interjected Felicity. When they all looked at her, she blushed. "Or ghosts. Ghosts is snappier."

Oliver glared at Tommy. 

"And I have this idea for these great uniforms," said Tommy, quickly. "Really heroic, the ladies will swoon. And the men," he said, nodding gallantly at Felicity. "And we'd need a TV spot to get all the clients in! Picture this: myself and Felicity in lab coats and glasses, brainy but sexy too, you know, lots of blinky lights in the background – and then I whip off my lab coat, and underneath is the uniform, and—"

"Tommy!"

"Look, I didn't believe it either until I met this woman." He waved a hand at Felicity, causing Oliver to throw her a look of deep suspicion. "She's shown me things – amazing things – and not just stage magic or that phony spiritualist crap, you know – this has actual _science_ behind it. I mean, there's this machine that... it's like this box, and you throw a switch, and there's a light, and..."

"The muon ghost trap," said Felicity. "Well, actually, 'trap' is a misleading word – you see, it creates a tachyon field that effectively causes a gateway to open into a sub-dimensional vortex with a high-density parakinetic energy well, that—"

" _Science_ , Ollie!" Tommy grabbed Oliver's lapels. "Listen to that! She's a genius. There's no way this could go wrong. See, I'd never realized it before, but all across this city, there are people struggling with a problem. A ghost problem. The people need help, Ollie, they need a group of people – a team, if you will – to go in and fight these ghosts and to free them from the grasp of this malevolent power. This city is crying out to be saved, Ollie – and only we can do it! For a nominal fee, of course, plus expenses." He stepped back. "So, what d'you think?"

Tommy was actually nervous. He knew how this probably looked to Oliver, and really, it wasn't Tommy's first preference to have to beg for help, but since his father had closed his trust fund and kicked him out of the mansion, he actually needed it. It was unfortunate, too, that Felicity was so attractive – 'unfortunate' in that it probably meant Oliver was assuming certain things that weren't true – or at least they weren't true now. They had initially been the plan, admittedly, but once he'd actually started listening to her, it had dawned on him that there was a much greater opportunity here than some really hot sex with a beautiful blonde to take the edge off his suddenly reduced circumstances (even if he was kind of hoping that was still on the cards as well).

Oliver, however, was not buying it.

"Oh, no - you're doing the thing with your chin, Ollie, don't do the chin thing, listen to me, listen." Tommy took his friend by the arm. "It's a great plan. I swear to you. It's the real deal. I promise you, I know how crazy it sounds, but the things I've seen, Ollie, they are truly amazing. You have got to believe me. Look, we've always talked about how I should get out from under my father's thumb, and admittedly now he's giving me no choice, but this is me, getting out. I have a plan. I just need my best friend to have a little faith in me."

"Tommy..."

"No, no, I will not hear that tone. That tone does not have faith, Ollie!"

There was the polite sound of a throat being cleared. All three men turned to Felicity, who smiled nervously, and looked at Tommy. "Maybe they ought to meet Slimer?"


	2. Terminator AU

Even as she raised her hand and backed away, she knew it was futile. As if a hand and a few inches of distance would stop a speeding bullet, or – what was it shotguns fired? Shit, she was going to die, and she was never even going to know what killed her.

The gun looked enormous. The man took a step forward. She took in the tattered trenchcoat and the ferocious, half-crazed expression in his eyes, and her mind supplied tomorrow's headlines: 'IT girl killed by homeless madman'... Around her, people were screaming and backing away, but for some reason, he stayed fixed on her, his blue eyes never wavering. She could feel the tears start, as she begged: "Please! Please, don't hurt me."

"Felicity Smoak?"

"Yes! Yes, that's me. I mean—" She'd instinctively grasped for the chance to make a connection with him, to erase the hatred in his eyes – realizing too late that, if he already knew her name, then this was premeditated. Somehow, for some reason, he'd sought her out, intending to kill her - and she'd just confirmed her identity. "Oh god, please, please don't kill me."

He took another step, bringing the shotgun into a firing position. "Felicity Smoak, you—"

And suddenly, the gun was wrenched out of his hand, a deafening shot going wild into the ceiling of the bar. Felicity screamed and fell backwards to the floor, scrambling away, and it took a moment to register that she hadn't been hit. She looked up. From her position, the new player looked about eight feet tall. She'd thought the guy in the trench coat was built, but he was almost frail in comparison to the giant slab of a man who had stopped him. As she stared in disbelief, the taller man took the shotgun in both hands, and in one swift move, snapped it over his knee. Shells ( _that_ was what they fired!) scattered across the floor.

"My hero," said Felicity, faintly.

Mr Tall and Mighty tossed the gun aside, and advanced on the guy in the trenchcoat, who backed away in terror, much as Felicity herself had just done – except that he then grabbed for a chair, and smashed it into her protector. Who _didn't even falter_. He just absorbed the blow as though it was nothing, and continued to stalk forward. Felicity put her hand over her mouth. How was that even possible? 

And then Mr Tall was grabbing Mr Shooty by his collar, and hoisting him up to slam him into the back wall of the bar, his head smacking into the mirrored wall with a crash that shattered the glass. His knees gave out as he was dropped again, and Felicity was about to breathe a sigh of relief, when Mr Tall reached out two huge hands and took Mr Shooty by his neck, and squeezed.

"Wait, no – stop!" she yelled. And to her utter astonishment, he did.

Felicity got shakily to her feet. Mr Tall had frozen in position, his hands in a ruthless grip around Mr Shooty's neck. Mr Shooty, meanwhile, was dizzily trying to get away, fingers scrabbling helplessly against the chokehold. But Mr Tall wasn't moving. It was as though he was a statue – as though he was a robot...

"Oh... my... god." Curiosity overcame all other considerations, and she stepped forward and grasped Mr Tall's arm, her eyes running over him with professional familiarity. "Oh my god," she concluded, pinching him slightly. He turned to look at her, and his movement was just slightly... off. Just enough to confirm her suspicions. "You're a cyborg! I didn't think anything like this was even possible – I was sure the technology was years off anything like you! I mean, we've only just started to work out what the problems are, never mind find the solutions. Japan is further ahead, of course, but I wouldn't have thought even they could do _this_. If it wasn't my job, I would never even have guessed..." She ran her hand over the skin of his forearm. It was even warm, like human skin. "You're amazing! And kind of scary, but mostly amazing."

She was jerked out of her new-technology-trance when one of Mr Shooty's feet scraped against hers. Her attention snapped to him, and she realized his lips were beginning to turn blue. "Oh god – let him breathe! I mean, hang on to him, that's good, but don't kill him," she said. Her eyes flicked back to the cyborg. "I guess no one programmed you with Asimov's Laws," she said, disapprovingly.

The cyborg loosened its hold, and the man sucked in a desperate breath, getting his feet back under him. His glare remained on his captor, like a cornered animal – overtly aggressive, but with an undertone of absolute terror. "It's okay," she said. "He won't hurt you now." Remembering the shotgun, she added: "Unless you try to hurt me, buster, because that is _totally_ not cool."

"You have to die, Felicity Smoak!" he growled, still struggling against the unmoving hands of the cyborg. Felicity took a step back. "You don't understand! Eight billion dead, and you're responsible! You killed the human race when you created _them_!"

"Look, crazy guy, I don't know how you know my name, but in case you hadn't noticed, the human race is alive and well," she said, a little bit shakily. He'd sounded so certain. "I've not killed anyone."

"Not now," he said, as if it was obvious. His blue eyes flickered briefly to her with a look of pure fury. "In the future. In five years' time. You're the one who finds out how to do it, you press the switch – and your creation wakes up. A.I.," he spat, as though it was a swearword. "Artificial intelligence. And the first thing it does is decide that every human being should be wiped off the face of the planet."

"And I thought I woke up cranky," she said – but no one laughed. "Wow, okay, tough crowd. I think perhaps you need to get acquainted with the nice people at the nearest psych ward or whatever. And I need to be filing a restraining order with the nice cops who are no doubt on their way right now, and then we can maybe both go about our lives at a safe minimal—"

"Felicity Megan Smoak," he recited, as if by rote. "MIT class of 09, came second in the National Information Technology Competition. Master's in cyber security and computer sciences. Currently the Assistant Head of Programming Development for Cyberdyne Industries. Just started working on the T100 programme."

Felicity looked around, but fortunately the bar had cleared. "Who are you? And how do you know about that? It's top secret."

"Not in 2047," he said grimly. "All our research was focused on you. We needed to know how you'd done it. We needed to stop it, to fix it."

Felicity shook her head. "2047. Okay. I can't believe I'm having this ridiculous conversation—"

"Your mother is Donna Smoak, née Gordon. Your father is Terence Smoak, and he left you and your mother when you were six years old. You hacked the FBI and Interpol to find him when you were seventeen—"

"Okay, enough! Shut up. Stop talking, right now." She got the impression that he would have carried on regardless, had not the cyborg's hands tightened inexorably around his throat again. 

"Felicity Smoak," he choked out. "You have failed the human race!"

Keeping one huge hand still tight about the man's throat, the cyborg drew back the other in a fist, and dealt him a blow that knocked him unconscious. 

In the distance, she could hear sirens. The cyborg dropped the unconscious man to the floor, and turned to her. She had the bizarre impression he was awaiting her instructions. "Okay," she breathed. "That was... so weird." She eyed the cyborg. He stared back. Everything about him looked human - tanned skin, light brown hair, pale blue eyes - but there was something curiously blank in his expression, something that just felt wrong. Not bad, necessarily - but definitely not human. "Do you speak?" she asked.

"Yes."

It was a shock to hear his voice – even though everything else was lifelike, she somehow wasn't expecting it. "Right. Of course. Because if they can program you to breathe and blink, of course they gave you a voice synthesiser. God." She brushed back the strands of hair that were escaping her ponytail. "Why are you here, anyhow? Why did you stop him from killing me?"

"I am here to protect you."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Why? Who sent you?" He stayed silent. "Oh, come on! You can't say something like that and then not tell me why!" But he stayed silent. "Dammit. Okay, well, I guess this guy has been subdued, so we'd better wait for the police—"

"We must go."

She tipped an eyebrow at him, beginning to get annoyed. "Yeah, I don't think so," she said. "For one, I need to get a restraining order put on this freak – I mean, clearly he's got some way to get info on me, and he was able to track me down – and I can't have you watching over me day and night for the rest of my life, can I?" The cyborg opened his mouth to speak. "That was a rhetorical question," she added, not wanting to hear his answer.

"We must go," repeated the cyborg. He didn't sound impatient so much as confused as to why she hadn't already followed his instructions. "And I must kill him."

To her horror, he raised one booted foot over the unconscious man's head, as though he was going to crush a bug. "No – stop!" she cried, and the cyborg froze instantly. "What the hell?! No! You will not kill that man! I _order_ you not to kill that man!"

He hesitated, and then put his foot back on the ground. "He will try to kill you again," he warned.

"And that's a reason to get him locked up – not to kill him!" she said. "What in god's name were your programmers thinking? I'm seriously going to have to get you back to the lab and open you up, because I can't have you walking around all murder-happy!" She rubbed a hand over her face. "Okay, I don't think you should talk to the cops," she said. "That would clearly be a disaster. Plus you're insanely valuable technology, probably copyrighted to the eyeballs, and quite honestly, I am itching to find out what makes you tick, which is never gonna happen if I have to hand you over to the authorities. If I tell you to go somewhere, will you go there, and stay there until I arrive?"

"Yes," he said, and maybe she was projecting, but she thought she detected a hint of frustration in his voice. "But we must go. I must protect you."

She carefully patted his chest. "That's very sweet, big guy," she said. "But I'm safe now. The danger has been, uh, neutralized. You can stand down. Okay?" He tilted his head slightly. It resembled disbelief. "Go to my place. Wait there. Do you know where my apartment is?"

"3405 West Hyssop Street, Starling City, CA 18503," he recited.

"Right. Okay. Also creepy. But that's... not important right now. Go there, and wait for me. I should be back in a few hours," she said. He still hesitated. "Go _now_."

Without a word, he turned on his heel, gave the bar one final scan, and departed via the kitchen.

Felicity slumped into a chair, and stared at the unconscious man on the floor in front of her. It was a shame he was having some kind of psychotic break, because he was seriously good-looking under all the gaunt strung-out-ness and the trenchcoat – which, she was just beginning to notice, smelled like something had died in it. 

Then she rubbed her hands over her face, and tried to work out what she was going to tell the police.


	3. Star Trek AU

Felicity tucked her feet under her, and balanced her wineglass precariously on her knee to reach for the remote, so she could turn down the end credits. "So Oliver is the captain, of course – I mean, can't you just see him Jim Kirk-ing his way around the universe?"

"Kissing all the scantily-clad alien chicks," chuckled Sara. "And losing his shirt, like, _all_ the time."

"Oh my god," agreed Felicity. "And Dig is his First Officer, and also Security Chief, and he's always bitching Oliver out about going down to the planet and throwing himself into the peril of the week when they have a whole ship full of people to do that and the captain is supposed to stay put and be responsible, dammit."

Sara grinned. "And you're the Science Officer, of course."

"Really? I always thought of myself as the Chief Engineer. I mean, that's closer to what I do."

"Nah, you're totally part of the bridge crew," said Sara. "Anyhow, it's Star Trek science, it's not the same."

Felicity shrugged. "Well, okay – I'd look totally hot in a blue mini-dress. You are..." She stared at Sara for a long time. "Hmmm... I'm not sure, I'll have to come back to you. Oh! But Laurel is totally a super important ambassador that we're escorting to some crucial political whatever, and she's Oliver's ex, and they have this whole," she waved her hands, "sexual tension thing going on."

"Oh god yes. They're all 'I hate your guts' and 'I want to fuck you' at the same time."

That was the nice thing about Sara, reflected Felicity. She could see the ridiculousness of Oliver's insanely tangled love life, even though she was a part of it. "And your dad is an admiral back at Starfleet, and Oliver gets on his last nerve, every damn time." 

Sara snorted, and then leaned her head back against Felicity's knee. "Maybe I'm a Romulan," she said, pursing her lips thoughtfully.

"Half-Romulan, half-Vulcan," amended Felicity. "Like, not as cray-cray as the full-blood Romulans, and not emotionally constipated like the Vulcans. Best of both worlds."

"Aw, that's sweet." Sara swirled the wine in her glass. "And I guess Thea and Roy have got to be the junior officers, like Chekov and Sulu." She frowned. "What exactly did they do?"

"Sulu was the helmsman, and Chekov was navigation."

"Isn't that kind of the same thing?"

Felicity shrugged. "Eh, they were cute, who cares? I can imagine Roy as Sulu, following the captain around, trying to work his way up to his own command someday – and leaping around like a gymnast, of course. And Thea all eager and 'I can do zat!', and trying to be all worldy-wise whenever alien alcohol is involved." Felicity slumped back into the couch, nearly tipping red wine over herself. "These are the voyages of the U.S.S. Verdant," she declaimed. "Lost for five years, somewhere in the Delta Quadrant... although that's mixing Treks..."

"Stuck on board with an uptight ambassador and a Romulan who may or may not be a double agent..."

"The Romulan turns out to have a heart of gold, in the end." Felicity carded her fingers through the ends of Sara's hair. "And they make it back, even though they're changed by the experience."

"Hmm. Ever the optimist." They were quiet for a while. 

"Oh, hey, I guess I'm comms, too," said Felicity. "Which is cool, because Uhura's my girl."

"We just need a cranky Medical Officer and a Chief Engineer with an accent, and we're set."

\---

_Captain's log, stardate 1323.4..._

"Phasers aren't working, Felicity!"

"I think its hide is too thick! If that's even hide... if this creature is entirely silicon-based, it could be..." Felicity's voice faded into a mutter, and her head ducked over her tricorder, as Oliver and Dig continued to fire. All three of them moved back in a tightly-coordinated huddle.

"All we're doing is pissing it off," said Dig. "And we're getting boxed in down here. Now might be the time for one of those really stupid, dangerous plans, captain."

"Right." Oliver looked around. "Dig, take Felicity and head that way," he pointed towards the shallower end of the quarry, which looked like it might possibly be scalable. "Get to safety. Felicity, work out how to stop it. Stun it, if possible."

Felicity nodded, not looking up. "What're you going to do?" asked Dig. 

Oliver grinned brightly. "I'm gonna have a close encounter with a new lifeform."

He raced forwards, diving under the creature's legs as it swung one huge fist around, missing him by inches. Oliver yelled and kicked backwards, landing one foot solidly on what for want of a better word he was calling its knee. The creature growled and tottered briefly, but recovered its balance with unexpected agility for a giant rock monster, swinging around to catch Oliver with an epic clothesline. Oliver flew backwards, ass over teakettle. As he lay in the dust trying to suck in a breath through uncooperative lungs, he saw that Dig and Felicity had followed orders insofar as they had gone in the directions he'd pointed. They'd stopped at the rock wall, though, and were making no attempt to get away further. Felicity was now fiddling with her equipment, and Dig stood protectively in front of her. Damn them!

He managed to get one arm under him, but that was when the monster swooped down a huge paw and grabbed him, lifting him off the ground and into a bear hug. It began to squeeze...

\---

"And that was how you lost your shirt?"

Oliver sighed. "No. No, that was... later. Ow!" He flinched, glaring at the doctor, who gazed back, unimpressed by his captain's temper. "Do we really have to do this the old-fashioned way? It hurts!"

"Oh, quit whining," said Tommy, with an eyeroll, and prodded the graze on Oliver's broad shoulders with an antiseptic wipe. "If I do it this way, there's a chance you'll remember to be more careful next time. Don't worry, I won't even need the dermal regenerator – you won't have a scar. Wouldn't want you looking unsightly the next time you lose your shirt."

"You know, there is a pernicious rumor going around this ship that I'm always losing my shirt, and it's just not – ow!" Tommy, in finishing, had slapped a quick-heal patch over the wound.

"So where did it go, anyway – this mysterious shirt?"

Oliver's gaze slid away, and then upwards, evasively. "Does it matter?"

Tommy raised his eyebrows. "I'm starting to think so," he murmured, just as Dig and Felicity entered the sickbay to check up on the captain. "And if you won't tell me... I see you two managed to escape unscathed," he said, nodding at them. They both grinned broadly, and Oliver groaned and rubbed his hands over his face, confirming Tommy's growing belief that something interesting had happened, beyond a scrap with the local geology. "Now, my children, is there anything you'd like to tell me about your little jaunt down to Deneb-485?"

"I swore an oath of secrecy that I could not possibly break," said Dig, solemnly. Felicity shrugged, and Oliver breathed a sigh of relief. "However," added Dig, a small smirk appearing on his face, "if the ship's doctor feels that it's a matter of the captain's well-being, that would of course overrule any personal scruples I might feel."

"Dig!" snapped Oliver.

"Mr Diggle, would you care to step into my office? I happen to have a bottle of very fine Saurian brandy – for medicinal purposes, of course." Tommy held out a welcoming arm.

"My nerves could use it, after such a trying ordeal," said Dig, placing a hand on his broad chest. He utterly ignored the spluttering noise made by his captain as he followed Dr Merlyn. "So, it turned out that rock monsters weren't the only surprise the planet had to offer..."

Oliver scowled as the CMO's office door closed behind them. "My own crew, mutinying against me," he muttered, casting a sideways glance at Felicity. His Science Officer gave him a sympathetic smile, mollifying him a tiny bit.

"Come on," she said, and held out a bundle of cloth that was the reassuring shade of command gold. "Buy a girl a drink?" He took the shirt gratefully, and pulled it quickly over his head, then slid off the bed and followed her out. "And then you can tell me exactly what you'd give for them not to hear the REST of that story," she added, over her shoulder.

Oliver stopped, grimaced, and then sighed resignedly. "I get no respect around here," he told the ceiling. "No respect at all."


	4. Star Trek AU - bonus scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can take no credit for this scene. Basically, to think myself into Arrow-in-Star-Trek, I copied out a scene from my absolute favourite Star Trek tie-in novel, 'How Much For Just The Planet?' by John M. Ford, and changed the names and a few of the basic details. So the text is NOT MINE, and is totally borrowed without permission, and please do not credit it to me. I thought other people might get a kick out of it, so I'm posting it anyway. :)

"Ambassador Dinah Lance. She's a real star in the diplomatic firmament. Defused a war on Kintyre, got a whole raft of trade concessions from the Jamet Quango. Do you know her?"

"Not that I recall," said Oliver. 

"Well that's a novelty," muttered Diggle.

"What's that?"

"Oh, I was just making an observation about the large number of women in Starfleet who turn out to be your old acquaintances."

"Aw, Dig..."

"It's almost as amazing as the number of those old flames who wind up on board the Verdant."

"...what can I say?"

The lift arrived. As they entered, Felicity said, "Commander Diggle has a valid statistical point."

"Oh, don't you start."

The car delivered them seconds later to a large, open lobby with a glass ceiling showing a dizzying view of Earth. To one side was a broad corridor, and a large semicircular reception desk.

"Captain Oliver Queen," Oliver told the receptionist, handing over his identity card. "We're here to meet Ambassador Lance."

"The ambassador is expecting you in Conference Room 14," said the receptionist. "Please go ahead, the second left."

They found the room. The door slid open.

The conference room was carpeted in a dull orange, with a long walnut table and a dozen chairs, most of them in curious shapes for nonhuman sitters. At the head of the table, a human woman was seated, reading papers in a plastic folder. She had long, mid-brown hair in smooth, elegant curls, and very large green eyes. She was slender, bordering on thin, but with strength in her wrists as they turned the papers. She sat very straight in her sleek tunic and trousers of rough bronze silk, her feet tucked under her in impossibly high heels. 

She looked up. "Well, _hello_ , Ollie."

Oliver froze. Dig raised an eyebrow. Felicity raised two.

The ambassador stood up, said, "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Dinah... _Lance_."

"Ambassador and Special Envoy to the World and Population of Direidi," she said. "Long way from home, no?"

"Dinah... _Laurel_ Lance... uh, I'd like you to meet my Diggle officer, Commander First, and Ms Smote—I mean Smoak."

"Pleased to meet both of you," she said, smiled, shook hands.

"You'll excuse us," Felicity said lightly. "Commander Diggle and I need to discuss some statistics."

Diggle and Felicity went out. Oliver stared after them.

"You forgot, didn't you," Laurel said, sounding highly amused.

"I, uh... yeah."

She laughed. "What are you so embarrassed about? It was one ice cream soda, five years ago."

"You remembered."

"I'm a diplomat. You'd be surprised how much of diplomacy is remembering people's names and what they did a long time ago."


	5. Lord of the Rings AU, part 1 of 2

Felicity Smoak was a weaver. In fact, she was the most talented weaver in the whole of the Shire: people came from miles around to buy her wares or consult her knowledge, and she was shrewd with the former, and generous to a fault with the latter. To supplement her income, she also took on smaller jobs, mainly sewing and mending, and she was much sought-after for the putting together of trousseaus and the tailoring of fine suits for parties. Normally her circumstances – having left home as a mere stripling of thirty-three and set up in business for herself, with no help from her family – would have made her somewhat of an outsider in hobbit society; the fact that it had been forgiven as the quirk of an artistic nature was probably more due to her open-hearted friendliness than to her undeniable skill.

Her skill, however, was what Mr Oliver Queen sought when first he knocked at her door. She was a little intimidated by the taller than usual hobbit, with his serious expression and murky past. No one knew why he had disappeared from his family's luxurious home – a grand series of holes in the Eastfarthing – all those years ago. At the time, there had been rumours that he had been kidnapped by elves or murdered by an ambitious cousin or two, and his recent return – apparently unharmed – had done little to clear up the mystery. For, instead of telling exciting tales of danger and peril, to thrill and delight the younger hobbits and remind the older ones why it was better to sit by a comfortable fire with a mug of good ale than to venture into the wilds beyond Bree, Mr Queen had very much kept his own council, and spoken not a word of his adventures. It was most uncivil – but then what could you expect? After all, people remembered, he was distantly related to the Took clan, and one could never hope for them to behave like proper hobbits.

Felicity had followed the gossip, of course, but had not thought that such a peculiar tale would ever touch her quiet little life. So she was startled to find him on her doorstep on that sunny Spring morning, looking solemn and holding out a hood.

"I was told that you might be able to help me with this," he said.

She stared at him for a moment, and then looked down at the hood. She gasped. "Oh, it's beautiful!" She took it, and stroked her hand over the fabric reverently. "Elven work, is it not?" She did not need his nod to confirm it. None but elves could have achieved such elegant needlework, and such fine, close weaving on the cloth that it was almost impossible to separate warp and weft. But marring the fabric on one side of the hood was a sad, jagged tear, and Felicity found her fingers straying to it, as gently as if she probed a wound. "The poor thing," she said. "How did this happen?"

Mr Queen hesitated for a long moment before responding. "I was out in Cherry Tree Woods," he said, finally. "I tripped, and it caught on a twig."

"You tripped," said Felicity.

"Yes. Can you fix it?"

Felicity shook her head disapprovingly. "You know, Mr Queen, contrary to what popular rumour would have me believe, you are clearly not a source of interesting stories. No doubt your disappearance has an equally prosaic explanation."

Mr Queen tilted his head to one side and regarded her curiously. Although his eyes had been on her from the moment she opened the round, red-painted door, she got the impression that he hadn't truly focused until that moment. "I'm... sorry?"

She sighed. "Would you like to come in?" she asked, stepping back from her doorway. "I believe I can mend this, but it will take a little time. You may keep me company whilst I work." He hesitated, so she smiled and attempted to be a little more welcoming. "I was just putting on the kettle on, and there's a fresh batch of crumpets." She nodded to the hobbit-hole across the way. "Albert brought them around in repayment for fixing the buttons on his favourite waistcoat again. I keep telling him that if he'll let me adjust them a little wider, they won't come off so often, but he won't have it. He insists that he won't get any fatter if I help him eat the things he bakes."

"I don't want to intrude," he said, but there was a softer note in his voice – as though he was tempted, but could not allow himself.

"It's no bother," she assured him, her tender heart softening towards him. "Come in. You can tell me all about where you got such a beautiful item." She ushered him through. "And if you could at least _try_ to make it sound exciting, that would be much appreciated. I'll need something to tell the gossips, after all."

In the end, he sat with her until long past lunchtime as she led him through an explanation of how he had acquired the hood. It began slowly, as Felicity teased out the details, vastly improving them with the addition of her own fantastical imaginings – but he soon got into the swing of it, and by the end, he had told a very entertaining tale indeed, full of peril and magic and improbable derring-do. He also helped her to finish half a dozen crumpets, and a whole pot of strawberry jam.


End file.
